


Blood Will Tell

by shuns



Series: Becoming McGonagall [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Magic, Canon Backstory, DBQ 2019 Round 4, F/M, Horcrux Creation, Picking and choosing from Fantastic Beasts 2, See if you can spot everything I stole from 'Murders in the Rue Morgue', Sort of a murder mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 21:43:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuns/pseuds/shuns
Summary: When Minerva McGonagall woke up this morning, she did not expect to find a body in the hallway. But it seems that a decades-old missing person case, her first when she was a fresh-faced 18-year-old junior Auror, will finally be solved. Now, she just needs a clue to what happened, onlyBlood Will Tell.





	Blood Will Tell

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [TheSlytherinCabal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlytherinCabal/pseuds/TheSlytherinCabal) in the [DBQ2019Round4](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2019Round4) collection. 



> Disclaimer: the characters do not belong to me but are the property of J.K.R. And Warner Bros and no copyright infringement is intended. 
> 
> For this round, the finalists in [Death By Quill's 2019 contest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DeathByQuill) used the same pairing Tom Riddle/Minerva McGonagall and same theme Blood Magic. Each of the three participants chose a booster between 800 more words to be added to the max word count, 24 more hours to submit the piece and one extra point to be added to the overall score. My choice was 800 extra words. 
> 
> I would like to thank my tireless beta [HeartSandwich ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartSandwich/pseuds/HeartSandwich) and my alpha AWarden for their work.  
> 

Since the Battle, Hogwarts was unsettled. Thankfully, it was summer, so the rumbling and shaking that preceded a section of the Castle popping out of existence only to reappear a few weeks later, mended, didn’t disturb the students. When Minerva rounded the corner from Gryffindor Tower and heard the deafening grinding, she wasn't surprised when a fireplace materialized on the wall of the corridor. She hadn't seen one there since she was a girl attending Hogwarts.

A cheery fire burned in the grate, but the smoke billowed out due to a blocked flue. Minerva tried to adjust the damper, but the knob stuck and would not turn. _The glamorous life of a Headmistress._ Dousing the fire, she summoned the block, coughing as a cloud of ash engulfed her.

Then the body fell out.

It had been over forty years since Moody Senior - Alastor’s father - terrorized her during Auror training, but she still heard his bark, “You’ve two eyes and one mouth - look twice before ye’ open yer’ gob.” She cataloged what she saw. The body was still in one piece, though twisted at odd angles from its hiding place, and less a body and more a shriveled husk, typical of either exsanguination or draining the magical core to power a curse. The smaller frame, delicate bones, and lack of external genitalia indicated a female. The hair was shorn, and tiny neat runes were carved into the flesh on its back. She used her wand to flip over the body; the same runes were carved into the chest, a core draining then. She looked closer at the runes. Minerva enjoyed Charms, but Runes - the root of all charms and curses - hadn't held her interest. She knew enough to recognize that none of the runes came from one of the five families of runic languages. They were something special.

Evil too.

Dark magic leeched off the body and made the air shimmer. A trickle now, but at one point, powered by the corpse’s magical core, it would have been torrent. She’d wager a bottle of Odgen’s Finest this was a blood curse. Spells powered by blood were old, deep magic and usually dark. Blood called for blood - the caster had to offer a sacrifice. Small in some cases just a drop from a fingertip, but others required murder. Vile magic like this was beyond the Carrows’ capability. They were nasty little shites but not clever enough to tap a core, channel it with esoteric runes, and feed it into a blood curse. If this body was not from last year, then why would Albus let it remain? Did he not know it was here? 

Who was she? How long had she been here? It was hard to see past the ruination of her face, but Minerva could make out a high forehead and sharp cheekbones. Bracing herself, she sniffed the body. Over the scent of decay, she caught the scent of perfume. Persian garden at night, lemon zest, the tang of bergamot, and the velvet of vanilla - it was _Shalimar._

_Hello, Vinda Rosier, so this is where you’ve been hiding all these years._

Minerva set wards around the body. There were few Staff in summer, but she wasn’t taking chances. Voldemort’s curse on the DADA position ended today.

She had a busy morning of Floo calls ahead of her. Once she dealt with this mess, her reward would be a dram of whiskey from Elphin’s private stash. Vinda might have been an unmissed-missing person, but unraveling _yet another_ of Tom’s riddles warranted a small celebration.

No man had ever been so aptly named.

 

* * *

 

 _Shoulders are not suitable for riding_. Minerva bounced almost losing her perch twice as Elphinstone Urquart mounted the stairs to the front door. The townhome was in a better section of Knockturn Alley if there was such a thing. Solemn Street so named for the mausoleum at the end of the block had played host to some of the most glittering parties, lately. A liveried elf opened the doors and invited them in. _Just a bit of reconnaissance while Elphin keeps the hostess busy_. She was an eighteen-year-old, freshly minted junior Auror on her first assignment, but she had trained for this. Still, it felt like she had swallowed a dozen pixies.

Elphin had cleaned his robes twice from her stress shedding. Feeling her tension or her claws digging into his shoulder, he reached up and patted her. She bumped his hand with the side of her face. Her animagi form adored him, and she wagered he was a cat man. Initially, he proposed she attend as his date. Minerva countered by shrinking into her tabby form. She was not prepared for a fifty-year-old, hard-nosed Auror devolving into baby talk as he stroked her back. He actually cooed when she darted around his desk playing with a wadded up ball of parchment. Distracted by her cat antics, he did not see her take the top-secret memo from his desk. When she dropped it on his lap, it was decided she would be attending as his familiar.  With ‘Miss Kitty’ on his shoulder, Director Urquart - pureblood Ministry drone - was ready to walk on the wild side at the most free-thinking salon in London if not Europe.

Vinda Rosier, former lieutenant of Grindelwald's, had turned over a new leaf since the War. She definitely believed that Grindelwald belonged in Nuremgard, the Statute of Secrecy was quite necessary for the safety of magical kind, and Merlin most certainly wore striped underpants. Vinda had handed over Grindelwald’s secrets and a large number of galleons to the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France in exchange for her freedom. The French branch of the Rosier family, however, were keen to disassociate themselves from this particular daughter and had sent her into exile.

Vinda settled in London, establishing a vibrant salon for radicals and mavericks, well-attended by Muggle-borns, half-bloods, and the occasional brave pureblood. It drew visiting witches and wizards from everywhere, and tonight, two members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - Missing Magicals Division. The common link in three recent cases - one witch, and two wizards - was Vinda Rosier.

They were shown into the salon, a vast room with blue mosaic tiles on the floor that rippled like waves. Large slow-moving frescos of greek witches and wizards in sunny gardens near the sea filled the walls. Low couches and piles of cushions in green dotted the floor like islands. Squat tables next to the couches were piled with fruits and sweets. Lyre music drifted over them. Elves rushed around with bowls of wine and firewhiskey. In the center, two wizards were discussing the epic poem,  _Merlin and Morgana_.

Then a pig walked in front of them. Minerva realized there were birds, beasts even a few reptiles roaming the room. 

Their hostess beckoned them from a couch in the center. Vinda Rosier was a beautiful woman. Tall enough that her feet hung off the edge of the sofa where she reclined, languidly. She had dark hair set in perfect waves and green eyes. Her lips and eyelids were lined in dark blue, the same shade as her deep blue satin gown. A scattering of crystals at her waist increased until they were a glittering collar at her neck and shoulders. They sparkled when she took a breath. The winged tiara with a bright blue stone set in the middle would have looked gaudy on anyone else, but she wore it well. The only ornament that seemed out of place was the heavily jeweled locket with an ‘S’ in green emeralds.

Well, that and the orangutan she had on a golden lead at her side.

“Director, it’s a pleasure to welcome you to my home.” She held out her hand as Elphin bent to kiss it. Her vowels bowed and scraped. Minerva hated how grace and beauty rolled off Vinda, just like her perfect French perfume. She felt like country bumpkin in comparison. Elphin's longing glance at the woman on the settee wasn't helping matters

“Mademoiselle Rosier, how could I resist the opportunity to spend an evening in the company of the most lovely and interesting woman in London?” He eyed the orangutan. “Who is this handsome fellow?”

She smiled, “This is Tom. He’s my cheeky little monkey, aren’t you?” She jerked the lead. Tom's look could fling poop. 

“Your familiar?”

Vinda laughed longer than was appropriate, “Oh no, he’s a souvenir of lost love. When I lose a lover, I add to my menagerie. I just adore animals. They won’t leave me. Isn’t that right Tom? You’ll _never, ever_ leave me.” The malice dripping from Vinda’s words puddled on the floor. Elphin shifted uncomfortably and made a small bow before finding an empty couch.

As the night wore on, poetry gave way to riddles, drinking games, and songs. Elphin was drunk. Two wine bowls ago, Minerva began knocking them over to prevent him from drinking any more. Calling her _Pretty Miss Kitty_ had progressed to heavy petting, thankfully not that way, but the kissing on the nose was out-of-bounds. He would be sporting an eye patch tomorrow if he tried that again.

 _So much for "I’ll distract her while you look around."_ However, two goblins getting into a fight drew the attention of the room. She dragged Elphin’s bracelet out of his sleeve, twin to the charm on her 'collar.' Biting down on the medallion, she pulled off the foil. When the bare metal touched his skin, he was ported to the foyer of his house. He was his elves' problem now. With the party still raging, she crept out of the room.

Dark eyes rimmed in red followed her progress out the door.

 

* * *

 

The noise died away quickly as Minerva padded down the hall. Stopping at the staircase, should she go up or down? Then she heard the whisper of satin and the heavy tread of a man. “...just let me put Tom and the other animals away for the night. We don’t need an audience.” Minerva watched as the Vinda all but dragged the poor beast to a room hidden behind the staircase followed by a parade of animals from the party. 

She snuck in before the door closed. The animals were returning to their cages, about twenty in all. They gave Vinda a wide berth, cowering if she turned towards them. Vinda's ire was directed at the orangutan. Vinda dragged the reluctant beast into an open cage, pushed him in, then slammed the door shut. Tom rushed the gate in vain. He let loose an almost human shriek.

After Vinda left, Minerva stepped out of the shadows. She sat in front of the orangutan's enclosure. Her priority should be investigating the missing magicals, not freeing Vinda Rosier’s menagerie. They were being abused, and she couldn’t let it be. With a flick of her tail, she returned to her form. Tom's eyes followed her.

She jammed her wand into the cage’s lock. Minerva’s escape charms were solid, but Moody made them practice until they could unlock almost anything in under a minute. The lock soon gave way, and she stepped through the door into the enclosure. The pong of ape was overwhelming, but she stooped and beckoned the orangutan towards her.

He came. “There’s a good boy now. Would you like to leave so that nasty woman won’t drag you around by a chain?” Elphin had suggested a lead as part of their cover. Minerva had already transformed, so she had registered her displeasure by vomiting on his shoes.

Curiously, the ape gestured his shoulder. He flinched from her touch but allowed her to move his thick hair. There, carved into his flesh, was a small symbol, a cup or maybe a chalice. Even without running a diagnostic, the brand oozed dark magic. The wound looked fresh; some blood curses never healed. A whole section of her training had been devoted to curse-breaking. She wracked her brain to remember. Blood curses had a duality. _Blood is the price_ , was the first part, but what was the second? Method? No, medium.  _Blood is also the medium_.

She used her wand to make a small cut in the palm of her hand. _This is such a bad idea._ The only blood magic she ever encountered was the fever spell her mother cast to burn off a sickness. She used it rarely because it bloody well hurt. She placed her palm on the ape’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but this is going to burn, _fiabhras sruthán."_  The wound on her hand was on fire, and she could only imagine what the ape felt. When she opened her eyes, a dark-haired, dark-eyed man with skin like pale cream sat in front of her, gasping.

His smile was dazzling, “Thank you.”

Minerva realized two things in quick succession: she was purring at the handsome man, and he was _very_ naked. Minerva looked away and blushed. She ignored how his chuckle tickled parts of her she didn’t know existed, ”Shall I conjure you some trousers?” she offered.

“No rush, you can enjoy the view.”

Minerva was a veteran of the Gryffindor Quidditch shed, and she didn’t need his cheek, “I’ve seen bigger.” She flicked her wand and handed him the conjured garment.

“Are you DMLE?”

Well, the ‘cat’ was out of the bag, “Yes, I am looking for some missing wizards and a witch. Vinda did this to you? Why?”

The man shrugged, and muscles rippled, distractingly, “Many reasons, which don't matter right now. Can you free the others? Without a wand, I’m not much use. I'll see if I can find clothes for everyone.”

Minerva moved up and down the rows freeing witches, wizards even some goblins. By the end, she was light-headed from the blood loss. She only paused when a particularly bitey pig turned back into Cygnus Black III, her nemesis from school. He demanded she conjure him a full set of dress robes. She made him a tea towel instead. Then she realized that Tom hadn't returned with the promised clothes. 

An explosion rocked the room.

With no need to be stealthy, Minerva blew out the back wall with a _bombarda maxima_ and transfigured the rubble into passable steps, it wouldn't earn an ‘O’ but it quickly emptied the room. She should leave, too, but Tom was nowhere to be found. She wouldn't leave him behind. She opened the door to a one-sided battle as Tom, wearing Vinda'a tiara and necklace, dodged curses and hexes from the angry witch.  

“Vinda, our time had come to an end. I should say it’s not you, it's me, but we both know it's you.”

The gracious hostess was gone. The Rosiers claimed to descend from Circe herself, watching the witch unleash a magical maelstrom at the man, she could believe it. “I should have left you in Albania where I found you. You won’t make it out of here alive, Tom. Those are mine. Give them back, and I promise I’ll only kill you - a little.”

“You can't kill me, Vinda.” Disagreeing, she cast something deadly toward Tom. With the last of her energy, Minerva threw a shield around him. He saw the shield and looked for the source. Seeing her, he sprang over the balustrade, landing close enough to catch her as she fell too exhausted to stand. She felt him tug at her choker. _Clever Man, he realized it was portkey_. As they spun away, the witch’s thwarted shrieks rang in their ears.

They landed hard in Elphin’s foyer with an ‘Unmph’ from Tom as his back hit the floor. Minerva had fallen on him. Only his arms around her stopped her from rolling off. Dark eyes searched hers. She hadn’t been held since she had broken it off with Dougal. But this man was no country farm boy. 

"Rather unexpected end to the evening. Would you mind telling me just who you are?” Minerva was finding it hard to concentrate. Between exhaustion and his voice curling around her, she felt like she had been dipped in chocolate, a delicious drowning.

She shouldn’t break cover, but her brain was full of whispers to give in. Out of spite, she tried to give him a false name. Gritting her teeth, she forced out, “Athena Ross.” His eyes narrowed, and she thought she saw them flash red, but it was quickly gone. He squeezed her to his chest. She had conjured his trousers, but no shirt. He was warm and solid. He smelled of everything good in this world - fresh cream, bread baking, and licorice wands.

“Shall we try again, without the lie ‘Miss Kitty’? Though after our shared ordeal, must we be formal? What is your name, Kitten?”

Minerva fought his gaze and lost, “McGonagall. Minerva McGonagall.”

“A half-blood then? How interesting.” With a triumphant smirk, he rolled her off him and sat up, “Minerva, this is where I leave you. Stay out of trouble. Remember what curiosity did to the cat.” He leaned over her, and for a moment, she thought he might steal a kiss, but he wiped a cut on her cheek. He stood and with a crack, he apparated away, wandlessly. 

_Damn that man._

* * *

The house on Solemn Street was empty when Minerva returned. In the following weeks, the _Daily Prophet_ wove increasingly lurid tales of Vinda Rosier's depravity and the bacchanals she hosted. She was sighted all over the Continent, America, even the Orient. However, in the internal DMLE report, the investigating Aurors could find no trace of her. She had vanished. Security at Nurmengard was doubled. 

Minerva had her moment in the sun, too. Elphinstone received front-page coverage for freeing Vinda’s magical menagerie. When he insisted on a correction giving credit to Minerva, it was printed two weeks later with an old photo from school with the caption, ‘Half-blood helps hero,’ on page 8.

Things with Elphin were awkward. Besides the _Prophet_ bungle, Minerva informed him in no uncertain terms that kissing her “pretty-itty-bitty-pinky-winky-nosey-wosey” was grounds for a good hexing if not her resignation. He begged her to stay and apologized, profusely, going as far as buying flowers which made things three times worse. The snow lilies buried her desk and paperwork under a cold, wet drift. And she was allergic to the flowers. And the _entire_ DMLE secretarial pool shot daggers at her for being a plain-jane, half-blood who had turned the head of the Ministry’s most eligible bachelor. It was still two hours until quitting time, but Minerva lost her temper and jinxed Elphin’s hand to slap himself.

She stormed out of the Ministry without canceling the jinx and headed toward the Leaky intent on drowning her troubles in firewhiskey. Her reputation had been _bombarda_ ed, Elphin stole her credit, albeit unintentionally, and she still couldn’t find Tom. No one had ever heard of the handsome, powerful wizard she described.

Caught up in her musings, she didn’t see Cygnus Black III until they almost collided. He barely sneered at her before stalking off. Something wasn’t right. He had been two years behind her at school, but he never missed an opportunity to mock her.

Further, she knew that stride - he was late for mischief. The Leaky forgotten, Minerva shrank into her feline form. Landing on soft paws, she bounced up stacked crates then to the rooftop to follow him.

He marched up the steps of the Dueling Club, a wizards-only club for friendly or not-so-friendly duels, though most wizards used it to dodge their wives. The female freeze ward was impossible to fool, supposedly. If she mounted the stairs, she would be stuck until one of the club's elves released her. However, the warders hadn’t considered animagi. Animal transmogrification was rare enough magic that most warders neglected it. Creeping through an open vent, she slid down the shaft, feeling barely a tingle from the wards. The zephyr charms freshening the interior air ruffled her fur. It leveled out, and she stopped, listening for voices.

Minerva had heard Orion Black over the wireless enough to recognize his haughty drawl, “...you were stupid to go there Cygnus. She isn't blood, and your wife’s family disowned her. She fought a bloody war. What do you think would happen when you went in wand blazing? You jeopardized not only our plans but our Lord’s life.” Her ears had perked up at the ‘our Lord.’ There was talk of some mysterious aristocrat named Lord Voldemort that pure-bloods were falling over themselves to meet.

“At least I did something. No wonder Walburga isn't pregnant yet. The only action your wand sees is when you twirl it.”

Orion was an accomplished duelist, so it was no surprise when she heard the zings of spells being cast. But one thump, then followed by another was odd. Peeping through the vent grate, she saw him - _Tom -_ standing over the prone Blacks. “I expected better from the most ancient and noble house of Black. You didn’t see or stop me, too caught up your petty rivalry. Tsk-Tsk. _Crucio_.” The static discharge from the curse made Minerva’s fur stand on end. To their credit, neither Black cried out when hit by the Unforgivable. “Now, what was so important we had to meet this evening. I was in the middle of a very intricate working. If this is a wild hippogriff chase, the least of your worries will be Vinda Rosier. She has been dealt with, and is no longer a concern.”

Orion’s voice was still shaky from the torture. “My Lord, our Great Uncle Arcturus, was called away unexpectedly tonight. An emergency meeting of the Hogwarts' Board of Governors.”

Minerva couldn’t see Tom’s face, but she caught the irritated tone. “Yes, Headmaster Dippet offered me the DADA position this week.”

Cygnus blurted out, “That’s just it. The parchment had a black ribbon and border. Dippet is dead.”

“That is - most unfortunate. And just who is your uncle supporting as his replacement?”

“Uncle Arcturus has known him since school. They play chess -”

Cygnus interrupted, “It's Dumbledore, my Lord. He has most of the Board behind him.”

"I see," said Tom. "We must move up the time table, Hogwarts is key to my plan. Dumbledore has been an obstacle for far too long. He can't be Headmaster. We need to remove him."

Minerva had heard enough. She needed to warn Albus.

* * *

Dumbledore looked old sitting in his office as his gadgets spun and hummed. He sighed, “So you think this wizard, Tom, and Lord Voldemort who has been seen all over town are the same man? Curious name, Voldemort, a proper villain's name if ever I heard one. My french is rusty - the thief of death? I wonder what he wants to steal from Death.” Dumbledore twirled his pale wand around his fingers deep in thought.

Minerva was shocked by his sangfroid, “I would be more concerned about his plan to ‘remove’ you, Professor.”

“Not Professor anymore, I’m afraid Cygnus was right for the first time in his life." Minerva snorted, holding back a laugh. His smile was sad, “The Board did make me Headmaster. Of all the many things I envisioned doing in my youth, I never considered being Headmaster. I'll look through Headmaster Dippet's files and see if I can discover more about 'Tom.'  I can't just go along with Headmaster Dippet's appointments, especially if they have ill intentions. This school is the high ground advantage in the war for the hearts and minds of the children.”

Minerva scoffed, “I wasn’t aware that education was a battle.”

He smiled, and a bit of the twinkle returned, “Minerva, don’t you remember the fight to get homework done? Now, I have the unhappy task of replacing two teachers - Transfiguration and DADA.” He quirked an eyebrow and looked at her over his glasses. “Do you know anyone who is gifted at Transfiguration, a whiz at organization, and enjoys the majestic contrast of red and gold?”

“Oh no, Prof-Headmaster. I'm an Auror, not a teacher.”

“I think you would find your Auror training, especially with Moody, has prepared you for teaching. Just another way to serve the greater good, Minerva. Think about it?”

* * *

Dumbledore allowed Minerva to wander the grounds for the afternoon. She had just turned down the corridor from Gryffindor Tower when she saw Tom. His face was dark, twisted, and thunderous. His clothing was out of sorts, dusty and dirty. It looked like he had gone a few rounds with a dirty attic. _What had he been doing?_  

When he saw her, his face transformed back into the calm, handsome mask. He _terego_ ed his clothing. He might be good looking, but she knew he was rotten to the core. “Hello, Kitten. What are you doing here?” Something was off; she just couldn't put her finger on it.

“Just visiting. How about you? Here about the DADA position?” she asked, innocently.

“Dumbledore just informed me that the offer Headmaster Dippet made me for the DAD position has been withdrawn.” He leaned up against the wall, the picture of relaxed wizard though his eyes were anything but. “Hogwarts had always felt like home. From the moment I walked into the Great Hall, all I ever wanted was to teach here, become Headmaster. It feels like I’m being evicted.”

“Perhaps you wanted it too much?”

“Perhaps.” He looked at her. “It occurs to me that you have a similar problem. You're thwarted at the Ministry by your blood. Change is coming. You'll want to be on the right side of it.”

Her brow edged up of its own accord, “If God is for us, who can be against us? I doubt you are on the side of the angels, Tom.”

His grin was a temptation, “I’m afraid you are too good for me, Kitten. This is where we part ways then.”

As he turned away, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “What happened to Vinda? How has she been dealt with?” She wanted to hear it from his lips. 

His face never moved, but she could see his thoughts whirring. The silence stretched as he weighed his words, “Nothing she doesn’t deserve.”

 _Oh, the clever bastard using the present tense_. “Is she still alive? Why did you have her jewels?”

He smiled and said, “Sentimental reasons” and walked away.

* * *

“...then I told him to stop being such a prissy miss. He wouldn’t touch the body, Elphin. They don’t make curse breakers like they did in our day.” Minerva finished her drink. A better part of the day was spent, draining the remaining malevolent magic from Vinda’s body with the Ministry taking custody of it once the task was done. She hoped it was the last she would hear of Tom Riddle. His curse on the DADA position would have continued for at least another decade without intervention. It all made sense now. Albus had been looking in the DADA room for the source of the curse. He had never considered looking elsewhere. She could blame him for being short-sighted, but Hogwarts held her secrets close. No one thought there would be a basilisk in the bowels of the castle either. 

From his portrait on the wall, Elphin’s held up his cup, “My dear, as always your standards are impossible. I still wonder why you married me.”

“As do I. Such a smooth talker ‘Let me kiss you itty-bitty-pinky-winky-nosey-wosey.’ What woman could say no to that?” He chuckled and toasted her again. “Goodnight Elphin. I love you, though you are a numpty.”

Elphin had been a terrible boss, a better friend, a tender lover, but he was the best of husbands. She missed him so much.

**Author's Note:**

> A note about Minerva McGonagall's age, on Pottermore her birth year is listed as 1938 which I used in my story. However Fantastic Beasts II has her as a 20-year-old around 1908. Though I used Vinda Rosier, a character from Fantastic Beasts II, I preferred Pottermore’s age to work with the pairing.


End file.
